


I Can Do Anything (Other Than You)

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 21:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: Pooch tells them all about the time he went without sex for eighty-nine days. That's not the problem. That begins when Cougar says he could do it too and rather than agreeing cleverly, Jensen takes the challenge.





	I Can Do Anything (Other Than You)

Pooch is the one who sets the destructive chain of events into motion.

“I swear to god, I’m practically the record holder for longest without sex and not even touching myself,” he complains while they clean munitions during a slow period (which is always when these things happen). “There was that time Jolene got _crazy_ pissed at me for the stripper incident in Vegas.”

“2004,” Clay says knowingly.

“Worse,” Pooch replies darkly. “2006.”

Jensen winces, because he still has the scar on his abdomen from ’06. “That was not a bright patch in anyone’s history, let alone Roque and his apparent love for blowjob shots and how they’re weirdly like sodium pentothal to him. Oh, wow, guys. Guys, you feel that? I can actually hear him thinking about the way he’s gonna gut me open!” Jensen flashes a smirk that’s trying to be innocent in Roque’s direction, utterly unsurprised when it does nothing but make it worse.

“So yeah, I’ve gone eighty-nine days without sex and not touching myself because she said if I did, she’d know, and she’d cut it off.”

“You believed her?” Clay asks, amused.

“Would you take that chance?”

It doesn’t get worse until they return to their bunks that night and Cougar, who had been silently watching the whole time, pipes up: “I could do that.” 

Jensen, caught with half his clothes off and getting ready to coax Cougar into some sexytimes, glances at him with the look of a confused man who’s missed his line in the script. “Huh?”

“Go without sex,” Cougar fills in the blanks.

Now, if Jensen had half a brain between his ears, he’d nod his head eagerly and agree that, ‘totally, Cougs, you could totally button your dick up behind a chastity belt and lock it away so no one could touch your hot Mexican virtue’. The trouble is, the Losers remain unconvinced of said brain and after what Jensen does next, maybe he should be doubting its presence, too. 

Because he scoffs, a truly righteous sound, and gives Cougar a dubious stare from where he’s standing shirtless at the foot of the bed. “Are you serious? You’re pretty much one fuck a day away from them putting your picture beside Sexaholic in Websters.” Jensen, oblivious to the danger of what’s coming next, takes off his pants.

Why did he never learn to just _listen_ to his dick? His dick knows lots of good things, like how good Cougar feels and how if Jensen just shuts up, he gets to enjoy all that incredible heat and tightness. No, instead, he had to go and open his stupid mouth.

Because when he tries to crawl up their shared bed for a kiss, he’s greeted with Cougs turning his head to the side, lips shut, arms folded over his chest, like fucking Fort Knox in human form locking down at the sight of an intruder.

_What the fuck_ , what the fuck, “What the fuck?” he yelps.

“I could go longer than you.”

Here’s the other problem with Jensen’s idiot brain. Instead of conceding to his handsome sort-of-boyfriend that sure, of course, Jensen has no trouble believing that Cougar could go that long without sex of any kind, instead it trips off some kind of stubbornness wire, locking the door behind him and trapping him on the dangerous path he’s already set out on.

“Seriously?”

Cougar nods.

“You remember the part where I’ve been a Loser long before this unit, right? The whole D&D through high school, the tragic sex past…”

“You touched yourself,” Cougar responds, like he’s being logical. “No sex and no touching means I’d win.”

Jensen hates himself, but he’s not about to let Cougar win this game so easily (of course, he should’ve also remembered Cougar’s awful, terrible, disgusting tendency to cheat, but that didn’t click until later when he was being _tortured_ to admit defeat). So, stupidly, he says, “You’re on.” He doesn’t even care that they don’t discuss prizing, seeing as Jensen’s of the opinion that the sweet pride of winning is going to be enough.

It’s actually kind of adorable, in retrospect, that he doesn’t think about how stupid he’s being in willfully denying himself sex for the foreseeable future. 

What doesn’t temper the pain is that even though Jensen _knows_ there’s a bet, even though he knows how stubborn Cougar can be, he still lets out a wounded sound when Cougar flips Jensen over, pins him to the bed, and then _walks away_ , tipping his fucking hat on the way out as he wishes Jensen goodnight in that sexy low voice of his.

His hand is already halfway to Beat Town when he remembers the secondary part of the bet.

What the fuck did he just do?

He sleeps _terribly_. Even without sex, usually he ends up a leech secured to Cougar’s back and the warmth he kicks off puts Jensen to sleep. That means that he barely gets more than a few hours, waking up in one of the worst moods of his life. Despite this being _all his own fault_ , Jensen storms into the kitchen the next morning and steals Pooch’s coffee right out from under his nose. He defiantly and angrily slurps from it without breaking eye contact with Pooch, because _he needs this_.

“What the fuck, J?” He’s got a hand on his gun, but does that stop him? No. No, it doesn’t.

“This is all your fault,” Jensen gripes, but doesn’t expand on it. 

Matters grow worse when Cougar wakes up, serenely pouring himself a cup of coffee before he leaves with another tip of that stupid hat.

Jensen’s head meets table, in what’s probably going to be his number one relationship until Cougar breaks.

(Or, more realistically, until he does)

* * *

Jensen would like it on the record, though, that he’s not going to fold that quickly.

He makes it past the first week with ease, seeing as Clay had ordered them out for a mission and he hadn’t needed to see much of Cougar, what with him scouting the area ahead. He even makes it past day fifteen, because the plan of attack from Cougs had involved cooking his way down to Jensen’s dick, but joke’s on him, because his white boy stomach couldn’t handle the spices that Cougar had used and he’d spent the next few days sick.

Day eighteen is where things start getting difficult. 

Cougar shrunk his shirts. It has to be the case, because there’s no way that they were so tight to begin with, so either he purposefully went out and bought all new shirts that are a size too small or he took the time to go to the laundromat and shrink everything. Whatever it is, it means Jensen gets real thirsty, real fast for those arms. Then Cougar decides to start singing when they’re alone, low and melodic, anytime Jensen’s in the room.

By day forty, Jensen’s feeling pretty weak not because of a lack of sex, but because he misses Cougar. He misses kissing him, the touch of him, the warmth of him. What the fuck is the point of having a kind-of don’t-asky boyfriend if you can’t even do the things that you can’t tell? He’s sulking so much that Pooch is glowering at them and trying to move things along with bad matchmaking that never seems to work, seeing as Cougar just takes advantage and then bolts on the date as soon as it comes time to put out.

Jensen’s even pretty sure that Roque might just murder one of them, seeing as it would technically end the bet. It’s just sad that Jensen knows he’d be the one murdered, seeing as Cougar would probably see Roque coming.

By day seventy-five, Clay’s close to snapping.

“Jensen, if I find stripper glitter in one more thing…”

“I swear, he’s gonna break! I just need one more day!”

Which is what he keeps saying day after day after day. It’s not like he’s the only one involved, seeing as Cougar keeps up his campaign of terror and by day eighty-nine, Jensen decides to resort to porny methods, seeing as he knows about Cougar’s little secret side-fetish for the things. He strips down, oil in hand, and goes outside to get some sunny-d (which hopefully will lead to some Cougar-D later, if he does this right).

Unfortunately, Jensen didn’t plan for Clay interference.

“Jensen, put a shirt back on.”

“C’mon, Clay, that’s not fair! You let Cougs go to the firing range!”

The death glare from Clay is one Jensen sees on the daily, but somehow, he’s really stepping up his game lately. Maybe Roque’s been teaching him some tricks. “Put away the baby oil and come back inside.”

Jensen makes a sulking noise, but he definitely _doesn’t_ miss the glint of light that comes from a sniper moving his scope from a mile away.

_Gotcha_ , he thinks.

Unfortunately, when Jensen takes his baby-oil-covered slickness to bed, no one joins him.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, because maybe Cougar can be strong. For eighty-nine days though? 

_Shit_ , shit, shit, he’s gotta step up his game.

* * *

A hundred and two days into their little bet, Jensen steps it up.

Of course, he didn’t exactly think about getting shot through the bicep as a way to step up his game (who would?). Seeing as Cougar is planted right alongside him in the hospital bed when he wakes up, still fuzzy with drugs, means that he missed some opportunities to think outside the box, clearly. For a second, though, those amazing drugs play with his head. What if Cougar isn’t here? What if this is just a really intense Cougar-shaped hallucination that also manages to smell like him? It’s been a long time since he’s had sex, why not imagine Cougar?

He pokes the apparition in the shoulder and hears some very familiar Mexican profanity that Jensen actually can’t translate, so his theory about sexy hallucinations flies out the window.

“You’re awake?” Cougar mumbles against Jensen’s neck, because the asshole probably heard the change in his heartrate from before the poke and was just waiting for him to show his hand.

Jensen strains to recall what happened and events come back to him in annoying flashes. They’d been taking down a cartel and some jumpy teen-soldier grabbed the nearest gun to start shooting wildly. Sixteen bullets in the wall, one bullet through Jensen’s arm. This is why he hates the hiring practices of small time drug lords. There’s just no skill testing these days, they’ll hire anyone.

He should blame the drugs for why he starts giggling, but he also knows he’d be doing that even without them because it’s all _too perfect_.

“What?” Cougar asks, looking at him like he’s crazy.

“They got my good arm,” Jensen says, indicating with a general point to it. “I mean, as far as preventing myself from jerking off goes, I’d say this is a pretty good plan.” Maybe he should’ve gone and gotten himself shot earlier in this bet. He’s still giggling like an idiot when Cougar reaches down and shoves his hand into Jensen’s scrub pants, wrapping his fingers around Jensen’s dick.

He should probably apologize for getting shot or do something like say it’ll never happen again.

Instead, Jensen lets out a triumphant and strangled shout that would’ve roughly sounded like, “I win!” if not for the part where Cougar’s busy kissing Jensen and making it so that no one’s about to understand him. 

Maybe he should feel bad for the poor nurse that comes in to change his bandages and finds Jensen with his pants half down and Cougar positioned comfortably under the blankets, but she’s just doing her job and his heart rate _had_ been kind of all over the place. If you had Cougar sucking your dick for the first time in over a hundred days, it might look like cardiac arrest too.

“I won,” Jensen says later, when Cougar is curled possessively around him and he’s able to speak clearly again. 

“No,” Cougar counters. “I did.”

“Pretty sure those swollen lips of yours say otherwise, baby.”

“You didn’t die,” Cougar states bluntly. “I win.”

His heart rate spikes again, but this time when a cautious nurse comes in (her eyes covered) to check on him, Jensen’s able to wave her off, staring at Cougar like he can’t believe he heard that level of warm, fluffy, romantic bullshit come out of his mouth and he’s just upset because he didn’t have a chance to record it.

Everything starts to go fuzzy and happy and wonderful, which means that Cougar (bastard that he is) upped his drug dose to get him to fall asleep and try to forget what he’d said, but Jensen’s got him beat. He’s _never_ forgetting this, not as long as he lives.

“Love you too, kitty.”

* * *

When Jensen gets back off his medical leave, there’s a new rule in the Losers book.

_No more bets about who can withhold sex the longest_.

“Fair,” says Jensen. “Because it’s totally Clay. Roque wouldn’t last a day.”

In about a hundred days, he regrets that one and would happily travel back in time to warn himself of the dangers that lie ahead, but at the moment, it’s _totally_ worth it.


End file.
